The sky darkened
and began to thunder.
You watched me
from behind.
The jaguar was in my hands
fighting with open claws
as I wrestled
her toward the windows.
You sprung forward
clutching my ankles
screaming, "No! You can't take
her from me!"
But I wasn't leaving,
just sending
her to the light
where she belonged.
I beat you off, slapping
your hands away,
saying "I'm not going anywhere, love,
but here with you."
Eyes lit in understanding,
you fell back
against the wall,
letting go.
I looked at the jaguar,
sinking claws into my arms
burrowing into my chest, hissing.
Outside, the thunder clapped.
Drawing her into a ball,
I blew through cupped hands,
rushing her through
the glass.
The sky lit,
thunder ceased,
and a cleansing rain
began to fall.
You jumped up, saying
"You stopped the thunder!"
and spun me round and round,
laughing.
2
The jaguar came again
--this time at night.
She lit the room with sparks
from her claws, her teeth.
She nuzzled me
then drew back, crouching.
Her "Why did you send me away?"
took me by surprise.
"Because you were an intruder
in my heart," I said,
--but words lost meaning
in her glowing yellow eyes.
"Passion, an intruder?"
she moved,
shrinking back
into the shadows.
I let you rock me in home-fires,
warm in the kitchen, listening to soft rain.
Like a quilt, I held you to my chest
--but looked past you always toward windows.
Now she sits just outside the glass
tail slapping the ground,
waiting to crawl
back inside my chest.
My heart beats faster.
And in the distance,
I hear the beginnings
of thunder.
All poems copyrighted by the author, Tracey Besmark 1997©